Laughter as light as a feather by firstamazon

Laughter as light as a feather

Read Laughter as light as a feather

Sat on a blanket on the grass, Macalaurë idly changed the strings of his harp while he watched his family. Everybody was there: Nerdanel, Eärwen, and Anairë sat beneath a shady tree with a bottle of wine. His mother drew something on a notebook, while Anairë had framed a piece of cloth and embroidered a colorful pattern. Eärwen sat like a swan, her silver head thrown back and her legs crossed at the ankles, just enjoying the warmth and the talk around her.

His father and two half-uncles sat together on the only stone table of the glade, with benches of the same like on each side. Fëanáro shared his side with Nolofinwë, and Arafinwë shared his with Nelyo – yes, Nelyo was there, sitting with the adults, now that he was one. Macalaurë smiled fondly: he couldn’t begrudge his dearest brother, not really – especially not when he looked so happy, chuckling with their elder’s remarks.

It was then that Macalaurë realized Arafinwë was doing most of the talking, while the others laughed helplessly. Ah, yes, it might be one of those stories his uncle often told – but not so often that the children might overhear. However, today he didn’t seem to care, and neither did the others. At some point, Fëanáro banged his hand flat on the table and threw his head back, shouting with laughter. The whole gathering stopped for a moment to watch him, and then they all laughed with him – it was impossible not to.

Arafinwë smiled, delighted that he had such an enthusiastic audience, and he was eager to continue. Nolofinwë, always the sternest of his relatives, looked far more relaxed than Macalaurë had ever seen him – even if he still was the most contained. But just then, Fëanáro leaned into him and whispered something in his ear that made Nolofinwë throw his head to laugh in such likeness to his half-brother that got everyone else staring.

Fëanáro poked Nolofinwë’s ribs with his elbow and pointed his chin towards Nelyo, who tried holding back his snicker in his hands. He couldn’t hide his ears, though, and they turned the exact same reddish shade of his hair. Arafinwë said something quietly to him, and Nelyo gave up the pretense, shouting with laughter, to his elder’s greater amusement.

At that moment, Írimë and Findis appeared with the hunt of the day. They had not allowed any of the younger to go with them, for they said they needed their time together – since Írimë had gotten married, she and Findis saw each other less and less, they had told a sullen Tyelkormo. Macalaurë had frowned at that idea, wondering if he had to part from his brothers in such a manner, then perhaps he would never marry.

His half-aunts had brought a buck – enough to feed the whole family. Just as they approached the table, his father and uncles fell silent, watching the sisters with non-too-innocent eyes. The sisters both raise identical brows at them until Findis leaned down and said something to their ears only, and they all burst into a loud peel of laughter. Tears sprang from Nelyo’s eyes, and he wiped them with the end of his tunic.

“Now we see where you’ve learned all those stories from, Aro,” Fëanáro said with a smirk.

“It runs in the family,” Arafinwë shrugged nonchalantly.

“No, it doesn’t!” Laughed Nolofinwë. “I know nothing of those lewd stories, don’t even put me in the same bag,” he defended himself.

“Some people would say otherwise,” Anairë pipped in from where she sat, and the adults exploded with renewed laughter.

The three women under the tree whispered earnestly to each other, chuckling with their own private joke. Findis and Írimë stood to one side, then, to cut and clean the meat. They built a fire and started skinning the animal. Macalaurë snorted, for he realized they had built a fire too close to the table – no doubt so they could keep listening to the three brother’s conversation. 

That suddenly made Macalaurë feel slightly left aside. He looked to one side, where his younger brothers and cousins all sat in a circle playing a game, and to the other, where the elders chatted animatedly. He felt a disconcerting lump in his throat that told him he didn’t belong anywhere. He was not considered one of the youths any longer, but neither was he an adult.

He sighed and looked down at the harp on his lap, his most often companion, he thought ruefully. Macalaurë almost didn’t realize when Findaráto sat down graciously beside him with a charming smile, a flute in his hands, and a harp on his back. Macalaurë looked at his younger cousin with amusement: he was the most courteous of the family, but when it came to playing a duet, Findaráto really had no manners. He would just barge into whatever Macalaurë was playing and, fluidly, would pick up the tune.

Macalaurë snorted at that – the technique he had done with his masters now turned against himself. Not that he minded: Findaráto would always make it sound better, the little rascal. Macalaurë just finished changing the strings and started tying and attuning them silently. Findaráto waited patiently, his eyes fixed on no one in particular, and Macalaurë could feel his cousin’s calmness bleeding through his soothing Song.

A figure loomed against the light in front of them, and they both looked up, blinking – Turukáno was already the third tallest of the family, losing only to grandfather Finwë and Nelyo. But his Nolofinwëion cousin seemed at a loss for a company, just like Macalaurë had a moment ago.

“Come sit with us, Turvo!” Findaráto said, voicing Macalaurë’s wishes.

Turukáno looked at him instead. “Can I?” He said expectantly. 

Macalaurë smiled and nodded, knowing that Turukáno felt more at ease beside Findaráto than anyone else in the family. Findaráto shifted a little to let the other sit, and their elbows touched slightly. 

They watched the gathering silently for a moment before Turukáno spoke. 

“I have read that poetry book you lent me.”

Findaráto cocked his head. “You hated it,” he stated mildly.

“No! Well, yes. But hate is not the right word. It is utter rubbish, Ingo! How can you call that poetry?”

“Elemmíre is the best erotic poetess in Aman,” Findaráto answered with a serene smile, and Macalaurë snorted. “Don’t you agree, Káno?”

“Indeed, she is. She was also the first to write homoerotic poems. There is one infamous book with illustrations in it,” he said, amused in the way both his cousins blushed.

“Preposterous!” Turukáno muttered.

“Educational, I would say,” he replied, barely able to refrain his grin.

To Turukáno’s relief, their conversation died when they heard a shriek from the right side of the lawn.

“Stop it, you big oaf!” Irissë laughed, squatting Tyelkormo’s hands. The other didn’t mind the complaint and kept tickling her ribs.

“That’s what we do with cheating little cousins,” he replied, making Irissë shriek again.

“Come on, you two, stop that! Turko, it’s your turn,” Artanis said, lying belly down on the grass, her hair sprawled like a golden curtain around her shoulders.

Tyelkormo and Irissë, at last, returned to their places and resumed their game.

“What are they playing?” Turukáno asked.

“Fight and Conquer in Cuiviénen,” Findaráto answered. “A modified version, according to Curufinwë.”

Turukáno snorted. “I bet a modified version to suit his own shady purposes.”

“I heard it!” Curufinwë cried without turning his head.

“And that’s an inaccuracy,” Tyelkormo said. “Uncle Arafinwë said we could do it.”

“Hey, it’s my turn!” Angaráto cut in.

“Sorry, I thought it was mine,” Carnistir blushed and worried on his lower lip. 

He looked far too anxious, thought Macalaurë, which meant he was probably losing, as usual. He meant to stand up and check on the game, but the string he had been attuning let out a dissonant sound that made all of the gathered cousins cringe.

“Manwë’s balls, Káno, fix that thing already?” Tyelkormo said in a whim.

“Turkafinwë, language!” Nerdanel’s voice rang louder, but Tyelkormo seemed not at all concerned.

Macalaurë worked on the string for a moment – and not because his irritating brother had asked. 

“Ready, Ingoldo?”

Findaráto turned to him with a broad grin that split his handsome sun-tanned face in two and reached for his flute. They hadn’t even warmed up when more shrieking interrupted them, this time from the left. His twin brothers and Arakáno were chasing Laurefindë with their wooden swords and shields.

They screamed and ran after their elder, who laughed and pretended to have been caught. Laurefindë wasn’t expecting, of course, to be thrown down onto the ground by the three little imps.

“You three, watch out before you knock your cousin’s head off with that,” Nolofinwë had sprung up from his seat and was pulling the boys from Laurefindë’s laughing, sprawled body. 

“It was just make-believe battle, atto!” Arakáno cried. Ambarussar had already begun fencing once more, running and screaming with unending energy. 

“I told you to be careful with that, Arko! You are older than the twins and responsible for them.”

Arakáno pouted but nodded in agreement.

“Alright there, Findë?” Nolofinwë reached out a hand for him.

“Yes, don’t worry, uncle. It was all under control.”

Nolofinwë smiled and returned to his seat.

“Alright, shall we?” Findaráto asked, at last, and put the flute on his lips.

“Wait, wait, before you start! Káno, come here. It’s really quick! We only need an outsider’s opinion,” Angaráto waved for him.

Macalaurë shared an annoyed look with Findaráto but stood up anyway.

“Come and tell me if this is not cheating!” The Arafinwëion urged.

Macalaurë looked at the exquisite marble-carved pieces – his mother’s unequaled work – and assessed the game. There was one place on the map with a massive concentration of little soldiers.

“Whose are these?” He pointed to the pieces.

“What do you think?” Artanis said with a scowl.

Macalaurë glared at Curufinwë, but the young nér defended himself: “These are not mine! Mine are right here,” he said, pointing to a considerable less fortified region.

“Tyelko?”

“What? Curvo wanted to change the rules, so we did, and I’m winning. What’s wrong with that?”

“Cheating, you mean,” Carnistir muttered, looking as upset as the others.

“I am not, and you know that, Moryo. Stop whining, all of you!”

“He’s right, you know,” Irissë sighed unhappily, looking at the cards in her hands.

“Oh, stop defending him!” Curvo said with a pout.

“Don’t be an idiot. I would defend you too if you were winning,” she replied, and that was enough to shut everyone’s mouth.

Macalaurë shook his head, realizing the futility of his presence, and went back to his place on the blanket.

“Hope now we are going to be allowed our fun,” Findaráto beamed to Macalaurë.

But before he could properly accommodate, two things happened at once: Findekáno and Ambaráto came out into the glade from the left, where the trees were thicker. They both had bows hanging on their backs, and Findekáno had one arm over the other’s shoulders, encouraging him with so many loud praises – like only Findekáno knew how to do – that all eyes fell on them. Poor Ambaráto was flustered from head to toes, it seemed, and he was trying very hard – but not quite succeeding – to hide a self-satisfied grin.

“...incredible, Ambo! You should come training with me in the arena! The House of Finwë could do with another superb archer like you!”

Then, Artanis sprung up from the place, cards scattering on the floor without a care, and walked past them with tears in her eyes.

“Tanis!” Findaráto called in a concerned voice, but Irissë came right behind.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go,” she said, raising a hand signaling that Findaráto should remain where he was.

Macalaurë glared at the others once more, trying to find the culprit, but all the other boys looked as sullen and chagrined as Artanis – Curvo was also on the verge of tears. Except for Tyelkormo, of course, who had an infuriating smug smile on his lips. Macalaurë stared at him for a long moment until Tyelkormo couldn’t avoid his eyes anymore and, when his brother finally looked up, he bit his lips and sighed with regret. He stood up then and went to where the girls had sat apart from everyone.

Artanis wept, and Irissë was talking softly to her. Tyelkormo knelt beside them, and Macalaurë waited until he could see a faint smile on his golden-haired cousin.

“Now, Ingo, or we won’t ever do it,” he whispered to his cousin, who hurriedly picked up the flute.

They finally started playing, and their melody rose, fascinating and fierce, cheerful and elaborate, beautiful – like their family. Findaráto looked at Macalaurë with the same understanding; when Macalaurë started to sing, silence fell over the gathering. Findaráto joined him, and they sang different parts just as the Mingling began, enveloping the whole family in that familiar – but still very odd – trance whenever they heard Macalaurë play.

Once they were done, there was a moment of quiet. Then, his father spoke, voice gruff with emotion. “Thank you, Káno and Ingo. That was wonderful.”

Írimë stood up with red eyes and dropped a kissed on their foreheads. “My beautiful, talented nephews.”

“Thank you, aunt Írimë,” they chorused and chuckled when Írimë ruffled their hairs like they were young children.

With the corner of his eyes, Macalaurë saw Findekáno approach the elder’s table, staring intently at Nelyo – and Nelyo stared right back at him. They didn’t have to say much these days, Macalaurë mused, and suddenly the idea of getting married was not so appalling if one day he found someone like Nelyo and Findekáno had found each other…

The elders resumed their conversation as smoke and the delicious scent of cooked meat rose in the air. Nelyo stood up and flung an arm around Findekáno’s shoulder – who smiled and flung an arm around Nelyo’s waist in turn. They walked away, whispering things in each other’s ears, and laughing out loud without looking back. To anyone else – except his mother, perhaps – they looked like just the best of friends.

Macalaurë stared at them wistfully, perhaps a little jealous of their love, until Findaráto poked him in the ribs and brought him back to reality.

“Alright there, coz?”

Macalaurë was about to spill his heart to Findaráto when they were, again, interrupted.

“The last one to reach the river is a rotten egg!” Curufinwë screamed, already tugging his shirt off, followed closely by Laurefindë.

All the youths in the gathering rose their ears like hounds ready for a hunt, and they all stood up as one, running and laughing. Macalaurë sat a moment longer until he heard Nelyo’s voice.

“Káno! What are you waiting for? Come on!”

He smiled, then, and took his clothes off as he ran. In the end, the elders joined them for a late bath, dragging the twins and Arakáno with them. Someone splashed the side of Macalaurë’s face, and when he turned to scowl at his brothers, he saw Artanis and Irissë giggling to each other. He splashed them back, and water flew everywhere, splashing others - who splashed their neighbors in turn.

Macalaurë’s belly hurt with so much laughter, and he floated on the cool lake, chest light and happy, listening to his family’s usual banter with a big, silly smile on his face. 

He didn’t feel left aside anymore.